In far away and olden times
Sped from their hamlet seven maids
To dim and moonlit heather glades,
Upon the hour of midnight chimes.
One passion drew them secretly;
One master joy their little feet
Called to that desolate retreat,
Where never mortal man might see.
'Twas blue-eyed Dian who led the dance,
With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,
Avisa, Petronell and Nance.
Unknown they kept their nightly cheer;
Unguessed beneath the moon they kept
Brave frolic, while the village slept,
Nor dreamed the danger drawing near;
For on a holy Sabbath even,
When pirouette had been a shame,
Walking sedate, strange music came
To tempt the toes of all the seven--
Of blue-eyed Dian, who led the dance,
Of Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,
Avisa, Petronell and Nance.
The demon Piper tuned his reed
To madden each light-footed maid.
They listened, wondering, unafraid,
Nor thought upon the sorry speed
Awaiting any wanton one
Who'd sport upon the Lord's own Day;
Then, tripping through that dimpsy grey,
Quick fingers joined--the deed was done!
For blue-eyed Dian had dared to dance
With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,
Avisa, Petronell and Nance.
Their eyes like emeralds through the gloom,
Leapt elves and fairies, gnomes and imps,
In fearful haste to win a glimpse
Of the unhappy maidens' doom;
For sudden rang a thunder-shock
And flashed blue lightning-fork, to show
Beneath its grim and baleful glow,
Each flying girl turned to a rock!
Alas for Dian, who led the dance,
For Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,
Avisa, Petronell and Nance.
And now, at every Hunter's moon,
That haggard cirque of stones so still
Awakens to immortal thrill,
And seven small maids in silver shoon,
'Twixt dark of night and white of day,
Twinkle upon the sere, old heath,
Like living blossoms in a wreath,
Then shrink again to granite grey.
So blue-eyed Dian shall ever dance
With Linnette, Bethkin, Jennifer,
Avisa, Petronell and Nance.
THE HERON
Where leaps the burn by granite stairs
Into an eddying pool, he stood,
Personifying solitude
And meditating his affairs.
A bird august beyond belief
Distinguished in his way of thought,
Yet the sworn enemy of sport--
A "poacher," "vagabond," and "thief."
Creation's lord, the heron knew,
Denied his right to fish for trout--
A fact that often made him doubt
Of justice on a general view.
Then me he saw, and, guessing not
I held him innocent to be,
He spread slow pinions heavily
And drifted to a lonelier spot;
But left a feather by the stream,
Deep in the plume, fair, silver grey,
With which I'll write upon the day:
"Live and let live" shall be my theme.
THE GRIEF
A grief came unto me at noon of night
Blown on a breath of silky, southern air
With scent of myrtles and a crown of light
For aureole: vanished loveliness was there
And old, lost, magical things, all gracious and all rare.
Wings of cloud-purple from the Inland Sea,
Foam-tipped, my Grief outspread; the southern sun
Burned for a diadem, and mystery,
From the dim smoke of olive orchards won,
Arrayed that delicate shape in silver they had spun.
How little, little 'twixt our joy and woe!
Not sorrow then, but glad epiphanies
Of treasured happiness from long ago,
Had been my dreaming; but in bitter wise
The Grief looked on my face with a dead woman's eyes.
ON THE EBB
The tide fell fast and foaming, the empty sand shone bright,
And by the ocean roaming, upon the edge of night,
I found a something stranded with sea-fowl mewing high--
A wondrous atom landed and left all high and dry.
Whoever yet suspected mer-babies on a beach?
Yet here, by tide neglected, lay one within my reach--
A dainty, winsome creature as pink as any rose,
His golden tail a feature to take the place of toes.
And through the billows splashing, the sunset in her hair,
Over the white foam flashing, there rode a lady fair.
His blue-eyed, wild mer-mother swam wailing on the sea.
She sparkled through the smother and clamoured mournfully.
In gentle hands and steady, I lifted her delight,
Made sure that she was ready, then flung with all my might.
She sprang, like salmon leaping; she laughed in radiant
And gathered to safe keeping her rosy, golden boy.
I'd earned a mother's blessing--a good thing any day;
But now one fell to guessing what Science had to say:
For such authentic wonders, upon an ebbing tide,
Show zoologic blunders that cannot be denied.
SCANDAL
An owl alighted in the yew
Beside a poet's little house;
The hour was nearly half-past two,
And, as he ate his juicy mouse,
A cuckoo clock made cheerful chime
Within and shouted out the time.
"O gracious God!" the owl began,
And rolled his round eyes at the moon,
"What a black piece of work is man--
Well might we miss cuckoo in June.
How mad, misguided, inhumane
To keep cuckoo upon a chain!
"But all the feathered folk must know;
This infamy I'll bring to light,
And hoot the horror high and low
And scream the crime by day and night.
No bird shall sing to him again
Who keeps a cuckoo on a chain."
TO A BAT